It turns out having a criminal record is kind of cool, actually. At least, that is what Panther Toma has come to conclude after his debut at the ice cream social. As soon as his fellow students realized he is not some rabid beast that would tear them limb from limb on sight, they instead redirected their apprehension towards his shock collar and trimmed whiskers as a giddy curiosity. By the next day, other animals even approached him during class breaks to squeeze in some questions about juvie life and his candidacy. Never would he have imagined his incarceration would actually be beneficial to his social life.

"How long were you there?" They asked to his left.

"Was the food any good?" They inquired to his right.

"Were there any females?" They questioned from behind.

"Did you have a cellmate?" The posed from his front.

Tuesday passes, and then Wednesday. With every period that goes by, more people approach him. Then, they talk to others about him. And soon, Hafsa doesn't even need to guide him to their next classes; she can just let a small mob of nosy admirers do the job for her. Of course, as the panther's unofficial campaign manager, she makes sure he is always at his most presentable. She even invited herself into his dorm to plan his outfits for the entire week. Luckily for both of them, Toma's wardrobe was full of bright, colorful clothing lacking any intimidation, though she did lend him some additional accessories: some adorable and suffocating headwear, patterned ties and more concealer for his facial scar. She also served the role of socialization tutor. Every afternoon she sat him down on his bed and began her lectures.

"Body language is key in daily life," She explained, with the pompousness resembling one of her boyfriend's rants. "You're incredibly muscular for a panther as is. You'll have to be extra delicate with your movements. I know it's not easy with your lack of whiskers, but when in doubt, just stay still."

The panther nodded meekly, practicing his stillness as if to impress her.

"Us felines have it hard since our bodies are so sensitive." She continued. "We react to stimuli easily, and that can be very off-putting to herbies. So maintaining composure is everything. Ears up but not perked, pupils dilated but not manic, tail still but curved at the end, claws in, always, closed mouth when possible. Never twitch your muzzle, never eat sectpro in public, in fact, try to avoid eating in public at all, fur always groomed but never groom yourself in front of non-felines, two nasal strips every day, tone lowered but not gloomy, try to blink more often, try to put your hands in your pockets less often, but also don't wring them, try to look smaller without hunching over, so don't move your shoulders inwards but rather downwards and bend at the legs more. Avoid harsh-sounding words like 'pulchritude' and 'ointment', as well as words that show off your teeth like 'between' or 'steal'. And always have an energy bar in your bag. Got it?"

Toma reaches trembling hand towards a pencil and paper. "C-can you repeat that?"

Despite the unrelenting nature of his mentor, the dark feline endured it all with nary a complaint leaving his mouth. He's just as motivated as her to win. After all… others are beginning to like him! His classmates no longer avoid their gaze in fear, they no longer grimace at the mere sight of him. He makes them laugh with his jokes, and makes them fawn at his stories. Not just the carnivores too. Even herbivores sit next to him at lunch!

This terrifies him. If life has taught him anything, it's that the better things are going, the more it's going to hurt when things come crashing down. Enjoying the company of others feels perverse, like he's doing something forbidden. Something wrong and sneaky, something he's not deserving of. Is really he allowed to live a normal student life?

He concludes he must be very stupid, still. He's fully drunk on the exhilaration of his hope. Any pessimistic thoughts would have to be silenced by applause. If things do go wrong, he will be none the wiser.

"Say it one more time, won't you, Brian?"

"You're so very smart, Hafsa!"

The serval lets out a contented sigh. "And what else?"

"And clever!"

"And?"

"Brilliant!"

"And?"

"Capable!"

"Aaand?"

"Too loud."

Solomon's voice interrupts the singsongy duo. Serval and pigeon had been dancing around the room together during their little exchange, but now they freeze in place and deflate into their normal states.

"Might I remind you two that this is still office hours?" He scolds them, annoyed eyes flitting up from his work piled on his office desk.

"Aw, don't be such a stick in the mud, Sol!" It's Brian's turn to chide his friend, bounding up to him to flick the tufts of his ears playfully. "We're just celebrating!"

"Celebrating what?"

"How well Toma is doing at campaigning!" The bird replies mirthfully. "Hafsa's plan is working perfectly! At this rate, he could very well win!"

"I suggest saving your celebrations until after he's won."

"Well, I needed someone to extoll my genius," Hafsa mopes. "Considering my boyfriend has been completely neglecting me."

She dramatically falls onto his lap, a limp wrist over her forehead. Now a physical barrier between him and his work, he gives up and leans back into his chair, though this distraction is a welcome one.

"I believe it is you who neglects your boyfriend. You spend all your free time with Toma. I am wasting away with nothing but this creature for company." He points to Brian, who strikes a pose upon being called.

"I'm working very hard for the future of this academy!" She whines. "The least you could do is stroke my ego to help me stay motivated! I'm very high maintenance, I'll have you know."

"I never would have guessed." Solomon's voice sweetens to a low and flirtatious tone. "I suppose I'll have to step up, then."

He sneaks a hand around her waist and an arm under the crook of her knee as both of them giggle. However, a high-pitched squeal from a certain rock dove reminds the two where they are.

"Jeez, get a room, you two!" A red-faced Brian wiggles around at the joy of seeing his beloved 'ship'.

"We most definitely will, and you are not invited." Solomon clears his throat, releasing Hafsa from his arms, who hurriedly hops off of his lap. "But that will have to wait until after this whole election debacle. For better or for worse."

"Let's not think about the 'for worse' now." The female dismisses.

As if on cue, in walks the 'for better' after a polite knock. "Hey, guys."

"Hi, Toma!" Hafsa greets (her companions mimic her), and ushers the big cat towards the rest area, where he sits on the sofa with crossed legs. "Did you manage to get here okay?"

"Yeah, some guys kept me company on the walk here." He explains, unable to contain a boyish smile. "Plus, I swear I'm getting my sense of balance back. The other day I walked up a flight of stairs without using the railing once."

"That's good to hear," She praises. "Look at you, a regular social butterfly!"

"Heh, I guess…"

"Well, tomorrow's the big day." The smaller cat declares. "You ready?"

"Y-yeah!"

"Wrong. You're not."

"Oh."

"We got a lot of preparing to do before the big debate. It could make or break your run."

"B-but no pressure, right?"

Hafsa's gaze turns sympathetic. "You're gonna crush it. But first, we need to teach you how to crush it."

The other two student council members nod reassuringly.

"Th-thanks, guys." Toma offers a nervous smile.

His mentor returns the smile but in a flash, it disappears. "So!"

Her sudden flip in demeanor startles all three males. She hops to her feet and begins pacing back and forth on the faded Persian rug below.

"What is your experience with public speaking?" She demands.

"Not g-great."

"The first obstacle is finding a way to keep your heart rate low. We can't let your nerves give you a shock mid-speech. Do you have any calming medication?"

Toma shakes his head. "Uh, no. I'm legally not allowed to buy that."

"I figured… We'll practice getting you used to talking on a stage, even if it's a bit last minute." The serval's eyes narrow. "Worst case, you get a shock during the debate, we can probably play that off to gain sympathy from the crowd. In fact, maybe it's better if you get shocked so long as you can control your face to look less intimidating."

"You say some really crazy stuff sometimes, you know?"

"If I may interrupt," The caracal suddenly interjects. "Before we talk about stage fright, is it not more important to discuss the contents of Toma's arguments? He will need a strong set of arguments to counter the other candidates', especially Ezekiel."

"That Ezekiel…" Hafsa mutters. Besides his DAVID cronies doing their part to raise a big stink over him with rallies and cookouts galore, as well as badmouth the opposition, the serval was surprised and increasingly more suspicious over their seemingly decent sportsmanship. Team Toma had braced themselves for any number of scandals or swedges to break out in an attempt to ruin their campaign, but the enemy side has been disturbingly honest. This could only mean the rhinoceros has something big for the debate. And that could spell death for Toma's Vice President seat.

"Sol's right." Brian claps his hands together. "It's good that you already have your opening and closing statements prepared. We've built up a good set of campaign ideals. Remember, Toma is an acronym. Togetherness, Open-mindedness, More Lunchtime, Amity. We're all about building a trusting and united student body with both herbies and carnies walking hand in hand. And more lunchtime."

"Exactly." Hafsa nods. "Always try to revolve your answers around those ideas. And honestly, pepper in whatever else you'd like as long as it's not too absurd. The students won't remember every little promise once you win."

Toma gulps. "I feel like I'm being exposed to the dark side of politics."

"It gets way darker." The serval smirks. "Especially when Ezekiel inevitably hounds you on your juvie time."

"Y-you think he will?"

"I know he will. Whenever anyone's asked you why you were sent to juvie, what did you do?"

"Deflected!" Toma answers on cue.

"Exactly." His drill sergeant hums approvingly. "You deflected. But that's harder to do in a debate. So…"

The air in the student council office transforms. Every sound now hangs in the air, suspended as if caught on a spider's web. The serval looks back at her coworkers, and in an instant they know they need to leave. Still silent, the caracal and pigeon obey, and step out of the office, leaving only the feline buddies.

"Toma…" Hafsa starts, her voice soft but grave. "As your manager, but more importantly, as your friend… I need to know."

The panther only gapes at her, as if she were a ghost.

She pushes on, now a bit more firm. "If we wanna beat Ezekiel, we need to know the best angle of tackling this. Why did you get arrested?"

"I…"

"Attempted predation, wasn't it?"

Toma flinches.

"That looks very bad, Toma. I need to know what happened so we can spin it."

Despite her insistence, the black cat remains mute, only sputtering out incoherent sounds. With every stammer, he inches away from her, though he can only escape to the back of the sofa.

"Toma."

"C-can't…" He shudders, barely above a whisper. "Can't we lie?"

Hafsa's surprised at his suggestion. If the panther is suggesting dishonesty of all things… well, it can't be good.

"Lying means death if we get caught, and one lie leads to another." She answers. "Are you absolutely sure you can pull it off?"

"I-I will. I promise."

She sighs.

"You'll have to."

It seems the clock holds a grudge against them.

Every tick seems twice as loud yet only half as frequent.

Seconds drag on, trudging slow laps around the classroom before passing.

The teachers' words are drowned out by the ticking of the clock, harsh like gunshots. Whatever knowledge is bestowed today, it will remain a mystery.

That is how the vice presidential candidates feel on this Friday. Background noises fade into nothingness, lunch passes through their throats unnoticed. All they can do is watch the excruciating crawl of the sun from east to west until at last, the final bell rings.

Class is over.

The debate begins.

Animals pour into the auditorium, buzzing excitedly. An elite school like Noah's Arc produces students with a thirst for student politics, eager to witness the clash of verbal swords between the candidates that have been trying to seduce them all week long.

Seats fill in a manner of seconds. Leaning against the auditorium walls are the teachers and other staff, looking on at the herd with pride. Behind the curtains of the elevated stage, a similar chaos is felt. The handful of electable animals all nervously putter about the wooden planks, muttering opening lines, flipping through sweat-drenched notecards, and practicing their expressions on the old costume mirror.

Camouflaged in the shadows, Toma steadies his breathing. He had not slept a wink all night preparing for this very moment, and fortunately for him, his exhaustion serves to dull his nerves enough to avoid triggering a shock from his collar. He must be calm. If he just stands in this corner, undisturbed, he might just reach a state of enlightenment that will guide him to victory.

Of course, a white rhinoceros has other plans.

"Quite the wallflower, ain't you?" Ezekiel's voice rings out behind him. One more pump of his heart, and Toma would be paralyzed.

"I could hardly spot you all the way over here." The rhino continues, scanning the feline from head to toe.

"I-I'm preparing." Is all Toma can think to say.

"I wouldn't get so wound up if I were you." Ezekiel grins darkly. He steps closer to the panther, blocking out whatever light remained. "I'll make this quick and painless. Well… maybe not painless."

With a casual wave of his wrist, the horned herbivore backs off and ambles away towards the other candidates. After a beat, the panther violently shakes his head with a wobble of his jowls.

No. He will not get to me. It's time to focus. For Hafsa. For me.

Mrs. Cally suddenly emerges from the curtains, calling the students towards her and arranging them into a single file line. Seems the assembly is about to begin. Peeking out from the red velvet mantle, Toma can see the bright spotlight leaking in. And then, two small shadows making their way from stage left to stage right with a confident clack every step.

Hafsa's voice booms across the auditorium. "Good afternoon, students of Noah's Arc!"

He can hear the audience cheer wildly. Sounds like an ocean.

"Thank you all for attending this wonderful occasion. Today is a test of every student here. A test of character, of mind, and of courage. I of course refer to the test of decision-making. Gathered here are a wonderful and bright selection of candidates running for the role of Vice President of the student council. Under the supervision of our beloved Principal House, a neutral moderator, a debate will take place between these candidates, who will answer a series of questions to the best of their abilities."

Recognizing her cue, Mrs. Cally signals the backstage animals to make their entrance. One by one, the candidates walk onstage. Toma is one of the last to go; with each step he can hear the audience applaud the incoming students. At last, it is his turn, and the blinding light above him renders him sightless for who knows how long. At last, his retinas adjust to the harsh light, although he can feel his body temperature rising.

Calm yourself.

He locates the row of chairs at the back of the stage where the candidates are expected to sit. A small microphone rests on each seat. Wasting no time, he positions himself in front of the nearest available one, and with the remaining time, tries to make sense of his surroundings. The merciless halo above transforms the once recognizable auditorium into a twilit haze. Anything besides the spotlight is dark and expansive. He can only gather what may lie beyond through sound, but noises bounce around in a disorienting manner. To his sides, he observes his fellow potential VPs. Their faces are inscrutable, hardened into a determined and unblinking gaze. What they are looking at, he has no idea. Lastly, he finds Hafsa. She faces away from him behind the podium, but her outstretched arm points firmly at his group.

Toma gulps.

Once the phantom audience settles, the student council president continues her introductory speech. "These candidates will be presented with sixty seconds to answer each question, as well as being allowed to counter one other candidate's response at the end of each round. And of course, they will be allowed opening and closing statements. After the debate has concluded, every student will be given the opportunity to cast their vote on who the next vice president will be via online poll. Null votes are possible, but discouraged. The candidate with the most votes will win the vice presidential seat, and the results will be announced during tomorrow's morning announcement."

She turns back to face them. Her amber eyes meet his, if only for a split second.

"Knowing all this, I wish the very best of luck to all prospective candidates. This may be a test, but there are no wrong answers. May the best animal win!"

No wrong answers… what a lie.

The crowd still roars after Hafsa walks off, until she is replaced by the white goose House. For a moment, all is deadly silent, and Toma fears the audience has vanished altogether.

"Greetings, students and faculty of Noah's Arc Academy." The waterfowl announces with his usual gravitas. "I, Principal Goose House, declare this vice presidential debate… in session!"

The electric buzz of excitement spreads anew, reaching even the candidates.

"Using the microphones presented to you, may each candidate please give out their opening statement in order."

And so it begins.

Toma knew to expect tough competition, not just from Ezekiel, and his expectations are met. Despite their desperation not three minutes ago, the other candidates seemingly transformed into professional public speakers. Their tone is clear and proud, their words sophisticated, and delivery professional. As each animal reaches their turn, Toma begins to doubt more and more why he is even up on stage with these scholars. He can't even understand half of what they are saying, let alone compete with them.

Suddenly, something pokes at his side. His neighboring opponent, a ponytailed maned wolf looks at him anxiously.

"Dude, it's your turn." He whispers away from his mic.

Oh, shit.

How long had he been spaced out?

"Bwah, bwuh, bah…" The panther stutters, fumbling with the suddenly very slippery microphone. Was it always so small? He flicks it on, and a screeching feedback blasts out from it, causing the whole room to wince, most of all Toma.

"Uh, sorry." He mutters into the now working mic. "Uh, hullo. My name is Panther Toma, and I'm running for pice vresident. I mean, v-vice president."

Though his ears cannot rival a serval's, they pick up the mutterings of the invisible audience. His panicking brain struggles to remember what to do next. The opening speech, right! He had spent hours memorizing it.

"I-If your eyes are functioning correctly, you should see before you a large black panther. This panther has a black nylon collar around his throat and no whiskers. And yet here he is, up on stage, delivering an opening speech to run for student council. Let's be honest. It really doesn't look like he belongs here, does he? But he comes here with the same resolve and skill as all his fellow candidates do, and that is to protect and improve this fine academy. The only difference between this large panther and the other animals up on stage is that he believes appearances should be secondary to character. And his character is what Noah's Arc needs in order to truly be a place of learning and happiness for all animals. Thank you."

A generous applause echoes from the abyss. Even he cannot hold back a proud smile. It was a very rough start, but he may just be back on track. What are Hafsa, Solomon and Brian thinking? What is Ezekiel thinking?

His musings will have to wait. After all candidates have properly introduced themselves, the debate starts in earnest. Principal House starts with the typical softball questions expected and rehearsed by the debaters: idle talk of campaign goals, promises, knowledge of the school. Though Toma is not the most passionate of the speakers, his answers (thanks to the previous grilling of a perfectionist serval) are fluid and impressive, easily enough to rival Ezekiel's glib affectations.

As foretold by the student council, Toma dreads whatever attack the rhinoceros may have in store. As expected, it comes when House asks "How has your academic background affected your views of school?"

After hearing many erudite and heartwarming answers, it's the panther's turn. Luckily, he is prepared for this question. "My history with academia is complicated. As is evident, my mainstream education was interrupted briefly when I spent time in a correctional facility. But that wasn't very different from a regular school in a lot of ways!"

The laughter he anticipates comes right on time. "Both my time in traditional school and in-facility education has molded my perception of how students should be handled. In many instances, I saw how not to do things. If I were elected, I would focus on providing more freedom and trust in the student body rather than condescending them as individuals who cannot think for themselves."

A flawless answer, one of his best. The cheers he receives are even more vibrant than before, with some whistles and whoops sprinkled in. When it comes time for counterarguments, no other candidate dare rebuff his words. No candidate save one.

"I would like to counter Panther Toma's claim." Announces Ezekiel, standing up and prompting Toma to do the same.

They exchange glances under the hellish glare of the spotlight.

Bring it on.

"My issue with Candidate Toma's claim is of course his intentional ambiguity. Such padded, squeaky clean words he uses. 'Correctional facility, briefly interrupted, in-facility education'… what you truly mean to say is that you were locked up in juvie because you committed a crime!"

"Candidate Ezekiel!" Squawks the goose moderator sharply. "This line of questioning is irrelevant to the larger debate!"

"Hold on, Mr. House." Ezekiel responds with astounding calm. "I only concern myself with the wellbeing of this school and its students. I think everyone here, myself included, would like to know Candidate Toma's criminal record before making an informed decision, as is our legal right."

His words trigger a murmur of agreement. House is powerless to stop this now that the audience is playing along. This would be a tight spot for Toma had he not discussed his out the night before.

"If candidate Ezekiel insists on me airing out my dirty laundry, then I will, though it will benefit no one." The panther begins in the haughtiest tone he can muster. "I was convicted for petty crimes. Shoplifting, defacement of property, I think even jaywalking wound up on my list. Harmless acts of teenage rebellion I have long since outgrown, as I'm sure many of the students here have as well."

The other candidates raise their brows, impressed. House looks on nervously as the remaining audience buys into the explanation as well.

Ezekiel gulps, his helpless beady eyes scanning Toma for any weakness. He finds none.

"W-well, then…" The ungulate stutters. "Thank you for your honesty. I'm sure we can rest assured of your character now."

"Thank you for allowing me to clarify myself." Toma practically purrs.

"I'll have to inform the police that they have an erroneous case file, then."

Silence.

Silence as menacing as the devil.

"W-what?" Toma croaks, barely caught in the microphone.

"Your case file. I have some family friends down at the precinct who let me read through your criminal record. Since at the time, I thought you were a security threat and all."

A swish of paper twinkles through the boiling rays of artificial light as Ezekiel produces a manila folder from his papers.

"These are just copies, of course. The real files are archived. In fact, it should be readily accessible through the online database, just in case anyone else would like to check. And it's funny because it says here you were convicted of something else."

"Th-that has to be a mistake."

The herbivore sneers. "Really? A pretty unforgivable mistake, if you ask me. If you really did get charged for petty crimes than these records are way off base."

"That's—"

"I reckon you're bending the truth of the severity of those crimes, candidate. Attempted predation is a huge offense in my book."

The void gasps and trembles. Though still obscured, the sounds of a commotion are all too clear. The long-necked principal sweats, hemming and hawing into the microphone but unable to put a stop to this.

Toma is a carnivore. A predator. But in this moment, he could not feel any more powerless.

"P-please, don't do this."

His predator stares at him with pitch black eyes, as black as the expanse of animals before them. He raises his microphone closer to his leathery lips.

"I don't know how you could do it, Toma. To almost devour your own mother like that."

AN: Thank you for reading. I apologize for the lack of updates, I had a terminal case of writer's block. But here I am, in all my semi-competency. I debated whether or not I should extend the campaigning but decided it would be superfluous. Or maybe I'm just impatient and I don't like writing about things that bore me.

In any case, gasp what a reveal! I made sure Ezekiel did it in the most bastardous way possible.

Take it easy and stay safe.